


Turn on, turn in, drop out.

by lia_bezdomny



Series: The Squirrel and his Goldfish. [6]
Category: Mystrade - Fandom, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drug Use, Established Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Fluff, M/M, Mystrade is everything, Sherlock is a Brat, poor Greg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-28 21:46:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7657858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lia_bezdomny/pseuds/lia_bezdomny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I can see the whole galaxy in your nailpolish. How did you manage to do that?” “I'm wearing a clean coat… Inspector, are you... On drugs?!”</p><p>Or the one where Sherlock gets Greg high by accident and Mycroft has to save him and his job.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turn on, turn in, drop out.

**Author's Note:**

> Suggested/Inspired by eMileyJones, who wanted to read something about Mystrade and the "Acid time":  
> "Maybe someone we know does an "experiment" with our poor silver fox..."  
> So, here you go, enjoy.
> 
> Disclaimer:  
> I have no idea how Acid works and if you can sleep it off.

When Mycroft arrives at Greg's flat, the latter is surrounded by five big cardboard boxes and about ten packages.

 

“Gregory? Are you leaving the country?” “What? No, your mum is converting your room into a gym and she asked me to have you look through some of this.”

 

Greg and Mrs. Holmes talked regularly, since their meeting in the restaurant. Mycroft is still unsure what to think about it.

 

“My mother sent you my old things?” “Not just yours.” Greg points to three piles on the floor, divided into various items: Clothes, books, records, ecetera. It looked like a highly organised yard sale.

  
“The left one is Sherlock's stuff. The middle one could belong to both of you, and the pile on the right is clearly you.” “Why clearly?” The elder Holmes takes a book from Sherlock's pile and

 

“I highly doubt that Sherlock ever wore tails. Also, it has your name embroidered on it.” “Point taken. That book is mine by the way.” Greg looks up from the last box and laughs.

 

“You own a copy of Timothy Leary's autobiography? _You_?” “Yes… Sherlock gave it to me a few years ago. He thought it would broaden my horizon.”

  
“By giving you insides in the mind of a psychologist turned hippie turned drug guru?” Greg takes the book from Mycroft and inspects it.

 

“It is still in the plastic wrap.” “My horizon is broad enough.” “That is debatable.” There is a card attached to it, still in the envelope.

 

“You didn't even open the card?” “He told me the gist of it.” Of course Greg has to open it now, which earns him a disapproving look from Mycroft.

 

“Have you ever heard of privacy of correspondence, inspector?” “That rings a bell.” He takes the card out - which turns out to be nothing more than a torn up piece of white paper - and reads it.

 

“Well? What poetic masterpiece did my brother create?” “It just says “Happy Birthday you miserable, old git.””

“Really? Now it truly hurts my heart to not have read it sooner.” Greg shakes his head and crams the paper back into the envelope.

 

“I'm just glad that you two are on speaking terms now. And the passive-aggressive level is tolerable.”

Then Greg's phone rings and Donovan informs him that his meeting with the Chief Inspector Millican was rearranged to this afternoon. He begrudgingly says goodbye to Mycroft and drives to the Yard.

 

+

 

Millican was not exactly a fan of Lestrade's division. Especially not, because they employed the services of a certain consulting detective.

 

It also didn't help their relationship, that Sherlock secured the conviction of his personal arch-nemesis in three days, something Millican was trying to do for ten years. He did not do it on purpose though. He was looking into a Moriaty related case and then, he found evidence that he, revealed during a press conference via text message. Greg had his fair share of those kind of stunts from Sherlock too. But he was more focused on getting criminals off the streets, than recognition from the superintendent.

 

“Is he already there?” Donovan shakes her head. “No, but the dogs in the kennel starting to get nervous, so he must be near.”

Greg thinks this is the funniest thing he's ever heard and he starts to laugh. She gives him a dubious look and slightly sways her head from one side to another.

 

“Are you alright?” “Sure, why do you ask?”

He was pretty sure, her hair was in a ponytail, when he came into work. Why did she wore it open now, all of the sudden?

 

“Because you are sweating. Heavily.” “Sweating. You are hilarious, Sally. How do you come up with that?”

She leans in closer and snaps her fingers in front of his face. His reaction is, to take her hand and mumble, almost awestruck:

  
“I can see the whole galaxy in your nailpolish. How did you manage to do that?” “I'm wearing a clean coat… Inspector, are you... On drugs?!”

Greg really wishes, her hair would stop changing styles at this point. It was becoming very distracting.

 

“Of course not! Not since the late 90's. And where would I get them anyway... _Oh-oh_.” “No, no _oh-oh_! I don't want to hear _oh-oh_ from you! What happened?”

 

“I think Sherlock got me high on Acid.” “What?! He's back on drugs?” Now, that he is made aware of his high, he really feels the effects and has to sit down.

 

“No, I was going through some boxes and there was a piece of paper, I touched it… Could you please tell the walls to stop whispering? I'm talking here.” “Okay, what we got to do now is… Pray to our respective God's for a miracle, because Millican just walked through the door.”

 

Greg looks up and sees his boss stalking towards his office with that particular pissed-off expression on his face. At least the giant lizard head, that grows out of his shoulder is smiling.

 

Lestrade is ushered into the conference room without even a single word. One of Millican's underlings just grabs him by the arm and almost drags him off. This is the point, where Donovan silently wishes for a non lethal earthquake, or maybe another royal baby. Anything, to distract Millican long enough for her to save Lestrade from getting fired for showing up high on the job. Telling the truth was, obviously, out of the question. So she calls the only person, she could think of, from her bosses phone:

 

“What is it, Lestrade?” “This is Donovan, you psychopath!” There is a slight pause before she continues.

“The chief inspector is here and you somehow got Lestrade high.” “What are you talking about?”

  
“I don't know what you did, he said something about boxes and a piece of paper. and now you'll going to get him out of this.” “Paper?”

Another pause, a muffled conversation and then suddenly, John Watson is on the phone who assures her that they would figure something out. Donovan hangs up and hopes for the best.

 

+

“Inspector Lestrade.” Millican, the real one, not the lizard, reads through some papers and doesn't even look at him. Which Greg figures is a good thing, because he is now in that stage of an Acid high, where he starts to blink rapidly. He is not shaking, yet but still sits on his hands, just in case.

 

“Chief Inspector.” He sees the words leaving his mouth, coloured in bright red, along with the full stop and the shit emoji in brackets.

 

“As you know, the Superintendent asked me personally to look into some of the procedures in your department.” He didn't know that, but given the state that he is in now, he would have believed anything.

 

_The earth is flat? That explains a lot. Women have sea snakes in their wombs, and that is why they have PMS? Makes sense._

 

Millican is still continuing with his little speech, but now Greg is freaked out about sea snakes and really wants his daughter to see a herpetologist as soon as possible.

 

“Are you alright, Inspector Lestrade?” One of the aides, who now has two rows of teeth for eyes, addresses him.

 

“Yes, I… I feel fine. Thank you for asking.” He tries to calm himself down enough, to follow at least parts of the conversation but the lizard makes funny faces at him.

 

“So, of course what we really need to discuss is your department's involvement with a certain Mr. Sheldon Holmes.”

Even though his mind is currently flying high with Lucy, he knows that Millican is being a dick. If that pretentious wanker is able to write and spell one name in every language, from Arabic to Swahili, it is the name “Sherlock”.

 

“Personally, I think it is a disgrace for any police officer of our great nation to enlist the help of a civilian. We are here to serve the public, not let them do our jobs.”

Another patch of words leave Greg's mouth but this time in cursive, so he is pretty sure that he only thought them. He is also not immediately fired, his second clue.

 

One of Millican's minions, who by now truly looks like one of those annoying, pixelated nightmares, pats his pockets and looks at his phone before handing it to his boss. Without excusing himself, he takes the call:

 

“Superintendent Richards, how may I help you? Yes, I'm discussing that matter with him right now… Oh... Yes, yes, of course, I see… Naturally, this is exactly what I would… No, of course not… Yes, I will be on my way, good...” Millican and the lizard both focus on Greg's face before the human head venomously spits out:

  
“You can go now, Inspector.” It takes Greg a few moments to process the words, and when he finally gets up the room is empty. Just him, the desk four chairs and a brunette angel with glowing white wings.

 

“Inspector. Follow me please.”

He takes her hand and lets himself be guided out of the building and into a taxi cab. At least he thinks it is a taxi, because the colours change from yellow to black to pink in seconds. Before he can contemplate the fact that British cabs are never yellow, he hears a familiar voice:  
  
“Gregory, is everything alright?” Mycroft thankfully looks like himself and has no extra heads or teeth growing out of his body.

 

“Chipmunk! Is that you? I'm so glad to see you.” Greg throws himself against Mycroft and cuddles him.

 

“How do you feel?” “I'm tripping. Your brother got me high. You are so fluffy.” To emphasise that, he rubs his cheek against Mycroft's chest.

 

“I know, he called me and laughed about it for a couple of minutes before Watson filled me in. They are aware of us now, by the way.”

 

“Of course he laughs when you call. You are funny. And fluffy, like a giant fuzzy squirrel.” “I think we should get you home.”

 

It takes Mycroft about twenty minutes to convince Greg to let him go and another three hours to get him into bed. He sighs and brushes his hand through Greg's hair and tries not to think about the fact that Sherlock now knows, that he got himself a goldfish. A goldfish that gets packages from his mother, makes him cancel dinner with the foreign minister of Italy, threaten a superintendent and constantly refers to him as some member of the squirrel family.

When Greg starts to snore quietly, he changes into his pyjamas and also gets into bed.


End file.
